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On your first Valentine’s Day together, you gave Reno a comb.
“It’s hand-crafted Adamantaimai horn,” you said as he stared into the small gift box. “The shopkeeper said it’s supposed to help maintain a, um, healthy scalp? By improving circulation.” He was frowning, fiddling with the lid. “Plus it has anti-static properties, which… detangles hair and… reduces breakage.” You sat back, dismayed by his reaction. “Do you hate it?”
“What? No!” He dropped the lid of the box.
“It’s okay, be honest. You can re-gift it to Rude.”
He snorted a laugh. “As funny as that would be… nah, I’m keeping it.” He ran a finger over the smooth teeth of the comb. “This is… real nice. Thanks, sweetheart.” He leaned forward to kiss you.
You forestalled him by placing both hands against his cheeks. “So what’s with the face?”
He nuzzled your right palm. “Born with it.”
“You were making a face.” You squeezed gently, scrunching your own nose in an exaggerated approximation of his expression.
He nuzzled your left palm, then let his chin droop. “That was my ‘damnit, I’m a shitty boyfriend’ face,” he said dejectedly. “I didn’t get you anything.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to,” you said, gently running your thumbs across his cheekbones and over the crescents marked on his skin. His eyes were a bit bloodshot, you noticed. You let go and dropped your hands to his shoulders. “You’re not a shitty boyfriend! You just got back from Gongaga.”
“Don’t have to make excuses for me,” he mumbled, gazing at the comb. “Could’ve at least brought back a fridge magnet.”
You gave him a light punch. “It wasn’t like you went on vacation!” you protested. “You were working. We could have celebrated tomorrow, you must be exhausted–”
He leapt to his feet. “Hang tight.”
“Where are you going?”
“It’s a surprise!” he called, heading for the door. “Back in a flash!”
“Do NOT buy a fridge magnet!”
To his credit, he did not. Less than an hour later, he presented you with a bouquet of yellow flowers, his hair windblown. The messy strands fell over his goggles less artfully than usual as he tipped his head, gauging your reaction.
“Thank you,” you said, accepting the flowers. “They’re pretty. But you didn’t have to go out of your way.”
“I kinda had to,” he countered. “You like them, then?”
“Of course!” You gave the bouquet a sniff; the petals carried a fresh, sweet fragrance. “Were they crazy expensive? Surge pricing must be out of control today.”
“Eh,” he said with a shrug. “I can afford it. Would pay more, to not be a shitty boyfriend.”
“I told you, you’re not–”
“I’m not good at this romance stuff,” Reno continued doggedly. “You know that fancy restaurant with the candles on the statues, in Sector 8? I walked past it a couple of months ago and thought about, you know, taking you there.” He paused, looking embarrassed.
“Okay…?” you prompted.
“I just… I felt so proud of myself for having that idea. Thinking you’re gonna be so impressed. We’d have five courses, griffin steak, roast thunderbird… truffle salad or whatever, and I would tell them to open a bottle of their best wine. The thing is,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I kinda forgot to make reservations. I kinda forgot about V-Day.”
“That’s all right,” you said softly, looping your arms around him, still holding the bouquet in one hand. “Flowers and fancy restaurants are nice, but I’m happy just spending time together.”
“Yeah?” he said, voice muffled against your hair.
“I don’t even like the taste of truffle.” You heard a rumble, which you realized was Reno’s stomach. “Should we not talk about food?” you teased.
“I could go for a burger,” he admitted.
That was how you found yourself at Battle Square Burgers. The place wasn’t exactly bustling, but you weren’t the only customers celebrating Valentine’s Day with BOGO milkshakes and delightful stacks of grease. You glanced at the slightly sticky menu, where all the signature burgers were named after monsters.
“I’ll have a Boundfat,” you decided after some deliberation.
“A Behemoth for me,” Reno told the waitress. His eyes alighted on something behind you. “Check it out.” Jumping up from his chair, he strode to a corner of the diner. You joined him in front of a jukebox.
“Oh, this is fun!” you exclaimed.
He slung an arm across your shoulders. “Wanna listen to something?”
You peered at the song titles, which appeared to be handwritten in blocky letters on strips of tape. “Let’s see. They have ‘Good Night, Until Tomorrow’.”
“Nah, it’s gotta be a cheesy love song.” He scanned the selection. “Yoooooo. Cactuar Cupid.”
You giggled. “I don’t think I know this song.”
“For real? You’ve never heard ‘Cactuar Cupid’?” He started to sing, loudly enough for the whole diner to hear. “When we’re apaaaaaart…”
“Stop it!” you said, but you were laughing even as other customers turned to look. “People are staring!”
“It’s like 1000 needles in my heart…” Reno crooned.
“Okay, now I know for sure I’ve never heard this song.”
“You’re missing out, this is a classic.” A coin materialized in his hand and he slid it into the jukebox. “Let’s get you up to speed, sweetheart.”
The opening notes of a synth pop melody began piping into the room. Before long, Reno was leading the diner in a slightly off-key sing-along. You realized, sometime between your meal arriving and the last sip of your strawberry milkshake, that you were happy. And as Reno looked at you across the table, you thought that he was, too.
*
It was Valentine’s Day again and you and Reno were no longer together. You thought you had made that clear during your last conversation. However, the Turk was still in your office cubicle. He had sauntered in and deposited an alarmingly large rectangular object on your desk, clumsily wrapped in red foil paper.
“What is this?” you said stiffly.
He slouched against the cubicle wall. “A present. It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“We broke up,” you reminded him.
“Temporarily.”
You pushed the box back across your desk. “I don’t want this.”
“It’s a gift. You’re not still mad, are you?”
“Reno.” You closed your eyes briefly, then turned back to the spreadsheet open on your computer, the screen dense with numbers and tabs.
He took a step forward and leaned against your desk, trying to get your attention. “C’mon, sweetheart. Just open it. Please?”
“Take a hint, Reno. I’m busy.”
A crease appeared between his brows. “It’s almost lunchtime. Let’s go to the cafeteria, like old times. Try our luck with the daily special.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Fine. Suit yourself. But I’m not leaving until you open your gift.” He picked up your Moogle stress ball and started tossing it from hand to hand.
“Are you for real?” you hissed, losing patience. “Get out of here, Reno. Turks have no business on this floor.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, waving the Moogle dismissively. “If anyone asks, I have a legitimate question about expense claim forms.” He perched on the corner of your desk, stretching out his legs.
“Okay. You want me to open it?” You yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. He did not flinch when you brandished them, you noted with irritation. You stabbed the present with more force than necessary, and cut the wrapping paper. The red foil parted easily to reveal a very large chocolate chocobo.
“There. I’ve opened it. Can you leave now?”
Reno huffed, pretending to be insulted. “Gonna make me work for it, huh?” he asked. He leaned forward, suddenly closer to your face than he was before. “Well, lucky for you… I don’t give up easy.”
“I’m going to call security.”
He smiled widely, not the least bit concerned by your threat. “Go ahead. Call ’em.”
You picked up your desk phone and put it to your ear, holding his gaze. He raised an eyebrow. Your finger hovered above the first number, then you shook your head and replaced the handset. You knew you could never win with him when it came to calling bluffs and pushing buttons. “Just leave, please. I don’t want to see you.”
That gave Reno pause. He frowned, playful expression gone, fingers flexing around the Moogle. “Fine,” he muttered. “If that’s what you really want.”
He replaced the stress ball on your desk and moved towards the exit, then hesitated and glanced back. His eyes lingered on you for a few moments. “You sure you want me to go?”
You turned away, back to your work.
He took another step, but could not stop himself from responding to your lack of reaction. Swivelling, he came back and bumped his hip against your desk with a thump. “Y’know how annoying you are when you ignore me?”
“Reno!” you exploded, not caring if everyone in the office heard. “Get lost!”
“There’s that attitude,” he said with a strained grin.
Several heads popped up from nearby cubicles. Reno glanced at the onlookers before turning his attention back to you. When you glared at him, he said, “What? You're the one who’s making a scene.”
You took a deep breath. “I’m going to the washroom,” you announced, and walked out.
You heard his loud frustrated sigh behind you, and then his casual footsteps following you down the hallway. He whistled softly to himself as he strolled along in your wake.
Irritated, you spun to face him. “What is your game here, exactly?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Who said this is a game? I’m just following you to make sure you’re okay after your little temper tantrum in there.”
“My temper tantrum?” You crossed your arms. “Even if the thought of getting back together has crossed my mind, which it hasn't come within 6000 miles of doing, the way you are acting is not helping. It is aggravating and childish and not going to win me over.”
“What’s it going to take? More chocolate? Stuffed animals, jewelry?”
“I don’t want things.” You didn’t wait for him to respond. “If you’re still here when I come out, I am escalating to Tseng.”
“Oh, come on,” he groaned. “You’d really sic the boss on me? Is it really that bad that I'm here, that I’m trying?”
He glanced around, as if worried that invoking Tseng’s name would summon him. Then he focused on you and spoke in a lower, controlled tone. “I was not cheating on you, okay? It’s hard to explain when you avoid me and stop picking up my calls, but you gotta listen to me. It was a work trip. That’s all.”
“Oh, does Shinra let you take work trips to the Honeybee Inn?” You couldn’t help lacing the words with vicious sarcasm.
Reno rolled his eyes. “You saw the mission report. You know it was a job,” he complained. “I didn’t have a choice, okay?”
“Oh yes, employee of the month. Took your job so seriously you ended up under the covers with another woman.”
“Yeah, I was literally undercover.” He lifted his hands and made a waving, helpless gesture. “It was a sting op! I was supposed to do that! And I didn’t even sleep with her, for the record.”
“You know what, I’m done talking about it. I have to get back to work.” You turned your back on him and stormed into the washroom.
In the privacy of the stall, you took three deep breaths, replaying the conversation in your head. Please leave, you thought. Please leave and think of a better way to get back in my good graces.
You splashed some cold water on your face and steeled yourself. Cautiously, you peered out of the washroom and felt a contradictory mix of relief and disappointment when you saw the empty hallway. You made your way back to your desk, enduring your colleagues’ whispers and stares.
You dropped the chocobo off in the break room of the marketing department. Shame to let chocolate go to waste.
*
The next Valentine’s Day, you were back together after the disastrous sequence of events that almost got you killed, but Reno wasn’t in Midgar. He was off-grid on a mission in Junon, or maybe Wutai. He didn’t tell you. By now you were accustomed to (if not entirely happy about) his unpredictable schedule, the classified ops that took him out of the Shinra Building and into the dark alleys and underground tunnels and unmapped caverns of the world. You caught glimpses of this other life sometimes: inconsequential tidbits he dropped casually into conversations, things he murmured in his sleep.
He was less evasive than he used to be, sure. One of the concessions you negotiated when you reconciled. But he still wasn’t entirely transparent about his work. You worried about him when he was away, even though you knew he was good at his job. You worried that he belonged to the Turks in a way that he could never belong to you.
Was this the relationship you wanted? If the two of you were off again next Valentine’s Day, and on again the year after that, would it be worth it? You didn’t know.
It was late as these thoughts circled and churned in your head, and you knew you should get some sleep. There was a documentary about chocobo mating rituals playing on the television, providing background noise as you scrolled on your phone. Couples proclaiming their love on social media. Cheesy pun-filled ads. Flash sales for last-minute gifts. No news alerts about reactor incidents near Junon or unrest in Wutai.
You were about to head to bed when your phone buzzed with an incoming text message from an unknown number.
Miss ya, sweetheart.
Your breath caught. You almost dropped your phone as you sat up on the couch, then hunched over to type. You started to write and then deleted several responses, your thumbs tripping over the tiny keyboard. Where are you? Everything okay? When are you coming home?
In the end you settled on Miss you, too! Happy Valentine’s Day with heart and kiss emojis. You sent it, and then almost dropped your phone again when it vibrated.
Your message could not be delivered.
But wherever he was, he was thinking about you. And that was enough, for tonight. And it might be enough, until next February.